DISORDER THE PARTISAN OF ORDER.
Bossuet muttered in Combeferre's ear,--
"He has not answered my question."
"He is a man who does kind actions with musket-shots," said Combeferre.
Those who have any recollection of this now distant epoch know that the
suburban National Guards were valiant against the insurrection, and
they were peculiarly brave and obstinate in the days of June, 1832. Any
worthy landlord, whose establishment the insurrection injured, became
leonine on seeing his dancing-room deserted, and let himself be killed
in order to save order represented by the suburban public-house. At
this time, which was at once heroic and bourgeois, in the presence
of ideas which had their knights, interests had their Paladins, and
the prosaic nature of the motive took away none of the bravery of
the movement. The decrease of a pile of crowns made bankers sing the
Marseillaise, men lyrically shed their blood for the till, and defended
with Lacedæmonian enthusiasm the shop, that immense diminutive of the
country. Altogether there was a good deal that was very serious in all
this; social interests were entering into a contest, while awaiting
the day when they would enter a state of equilibrium. Another sign of
this time was the anarchy mingled with the governmentalism (a barbarous
name of the correct party), and men were for order without discipline.
The drums played unexpectedly fancy calls, at the command of some
colonel of the National Guard: one captain went under fire through
inspiration, while some National Guards fought "for the idea," and on
their own account. In critical moments during the riots men followed
the advice of their chiefs less than their own instincts, and there
were in the army of order real Guerilleros, some of the sword like
Fannicot, and others of the pen like Henry Fonfrède. Civilization,
unhappily represented at this period more by an aggregation of
interests than by a group of principles, was, or believed itself to
be, in danger; it uttered the alarm cry, and every man, constituting
himself a centre, defended, succored, and protected it in his own way,
and the first comer took on himself to save society.
Zeal sometimes went as far as extermination; a platoon of National
Guards constituted themselves of their own authority a council of war,
and tried and executed in five minutes an insurgent prisoner. It was
an improvisation of this nature which killed Jean Prouvaire. It is
that ferocious Lynch law with which no party has the right to reproach
another, for it is applied by the Republic in America as by monarchy
in Europe. This Lynch law was complicated by mistakes. On a day of
riot a young poet of the name of Paul Aimé Garnier was pursued on
the Place Royale at the bayonet's point, and only escaped by taking
shelter under the gateway at No. 6. "There's another of those Saint
Simonians," they shouted, and wished to kill him. Now, he had under
his arm a volume of the Memoirs of the Duc de Saint Simon; a National
Guard read on the back the words "Saint Simon," and shouted, "Death to
him!" On June 6, 1832, a company of suburban National Guards, commanded
by Captain Fannicot, to whom we have already referred, decimated
the Rue de la Chanvrerie for his own good pleasure, and on his own
authority. This fact, singular though it is, was proved by the judicial
report drawn up in consequence of the insurrection of 1832. Captain
Fannicot, an impatient and bold bourgeois, a species of condottiere
of order, and a fanatical and insubmissive governmentalist, could not
resist the attraction of firing prematurely, and taking the barricade
all by himself, that is to say, with his company. Exasperated at the
successive apparition of the red flag and the old coat, which he took
for the black flag, he loudly blamed the generals and commanders of
corps, who were holding councils, as they did not think the decisive
moment for assault had arrived, but were "letting the insurrection stew
in its own gravy," according to a celebrated expression of one of them.
As for him, he thought the barricade ripe, and as everything that is
ripe is bound to fall, he made the attempt.
He commanded men as resolute as himself. "Mad-men," a witness called
them. His company, the same which had shot Jean Prouvaire, was the
first of the battalion posted at the street corner. At the moment when
it was least expected the captain dashed his men at the barricade;
but this movement, executed with more good-will than strategy, cost
Fannicot's company dearly. Before it had covered two thirds of the
street a general discharge from the barricade greeted it; four, the
boldest men of all, running at the head, were shot down in point-blank
range at the very foot of the barricade, and this courageous mob of
National Guards, very brave men, but not possessing the military
tenacity, was compelled to fall back after a few moments, leaving
fifteen corpses in the street. The momentary hesitation gave the
insurgents time to reload, and a second and most deadly discharge
assailed the company before the men were able to regain their shelter
at the corner of the street. In a moment they were caught between two
fires, and received the volley from the cannon, which, having no orders
to the contrary, did not cease firing. The intrepid and imprudent
Fannicot was one of those killed by this round of grape-shot; he was
laid low by the cannon. This attack, which was more furious than
serious, irritated Enjolras.
"The asses!" he said, "they have their men killed and expend our
ammunition for nothing."
Enjolras spoke like the true general of the riot that he was:
insurrection and repression do not fight with equal arms; for the
insurrection, which can be soon exhausted, has only a certain number of
rounds to fire and of combatants to expend. An expended cartouche-box
and a killed man cannot have their place filled up. Repression,
on the other hand, having the army, does not count men, and having
Vincennes, does not count rounds. Repression has as many regiments
as the barricade has men, and as many arsenals as the barricade has
cartouche-boxes. Hence these are always contests of one man against a
hundred, which ever end by the destruction of the barricade, unless
revolution, suddenly dashing up, casts into the balance its flashing
archangel's glaive. Such things happen, and then everything rises,
paving-stones get into a state of ebullition, and popular redoubts
swarm. Paris has a sovereign tremor, the _quid divinum_ is evolved;
there is an August 10 or a July 29 in the air, a prodigious light
appears, the yawning throat of force recoils, and the army, that lion,
sees before it, standing erect and tranquil, that prophet, France.